


Grace

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Episode Related, Everything Is Neil's Fault, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-06 14:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3137861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So it can't end like this, cut short before it's even been able to begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talkingtothesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/gifts).



> Birthday present (originally posted on the **lifein1973** LJ community December 18th, 2014) for the always lovely **talkingtothesky**! ♥ Happens at the end of 1x01, so episode related angst follows, as well as direct dialogue.

'You're such a complete div, Neil!'

'Oh come on, it's not my fault!' He's giving her that kicked puppy look, jogging in order to keep up with her, but it's not going to work. 'Didn't think he'd take it so bloody seriously!'

'Not your – ' She's seething, she needs to scream, only she knows there's some bloody more important things she needs to deal with, and berating him for his utter lack of tact drops to the bottom of the pile.

Not his fault... No, if she really thinks about it, it's _not_ his fault. She's the one who opened her bloody mouth in the first place, told him about Sam. Sam – oh God – _Sam_. She's running to the back of the station, knows she shouldn't panic but it just isn't as easy as that, like flipping off a switch.

There are the stairs, she's almost there, she needs to get to Sam before he does something stupid. The sort of something that he won't be able to take back. It's all going by in a blur, one moment pushing on into the next. She could already be too late – oh God, please, don't let it be too late. Neil's footsteps recede behind her, she's on her own now.

She's running, and thinking, and thinking some more.

She shouldn't have said anything to Neil in the first place, but at the time she'd still thought he had some sort of common sense – if dating him had proven anything, yes, he's book smart but a little rough around the edges. She needed to be able to talk to someone about Sam, and not someone she worked with. Unless she wanted to bring it up to her mum and dad, Neil was her best choice.

She's known Neil for years, since before university – she thought she could trust him. It couldn't be that he was just poking at Annie's new DI because he thought she might have taken a liking to him, she's almost certain it's nothing like that. Neil's always had a bad sense of humour, somewhat dark, bordering on inappropriate – of which she's currently, and constantly, being reminded.

But she trusted him – she thought she trusted him. She's really not too sure of it now.

Bloody hell! She shouldn't have said anything at all.

Her foot slips on the stair as she makes a sharp turn, hand flailing out to grab at the wall, hitting the fire bucket as she overextends her reach to catch her balance. She gets sand all over her hand in the process, hears a loud clatter as the bucket crashes to the ground, running on and leaving that mess behind her.

The sort of mess Sam might make, it – her blood goes hot, goes cold, and she feels like she'll be sick.

The need to be continue on at a more careful pace battles against one that's far more pressing, to make sure she gets to Sam in time. Because Annie doesn't actually know him all that well, that or what he's capable of.

She thinks she' like to know him better. She just needs the time, the chance. But from what she's already learned of him, he's not the sort who would kill himself – he's not a coward. He's anything but that.

So it can't end like this, cut short before it's even been able to begin.

Annie heads on. Moves with intent, up the stairs, through one door and then another, the first biting cut of the cold as it rips though her, clothing and skin as well. She reaches for the metal railing so she can take the ladder up.

The wind whips at her hair as she pulls herself up onto the roof of the station, and there he is, standing dark and real against the grey backdrop of the wide empty sky, staring down into the nothingness beyond. She swallows, grits her teeth, rubs her fingers against her palm, the hard grit of the sand on her hand. It's like he's flying out, lost any sort of sense, doesn't think any of this is real. And if he doesn't want to see that, how can Annie make it be seen?

She has to give him something to hold onto. Even he couldn't deny _that_.

She needs to stop thinking. She needs to act.

No, she can't stop thinking! She has to take care.

So Annie walks towards Sam, shivering against the bluster, cautiously, like he might just jump at any moment – in fact, just the way he could.

She reaches out to steady herself and the railing is cold against her hands, rough, but it's hard, and real, and she leans into it, 'Sam?'.

Oh, there's that look on his face, and why does it cut through her blood like ice? Frantic madness. Far too amused. Breaking, and she doesn't know if she can keep hold of the pieces. Then he falters, something shifting in his gaze, and he turns himself slightly, looking back.

She reaches out. 'Come away from the edge?' Her voice doesn’t betray her, doesn't shake. She's falling to pieces, but she'll keep it hidden.

It's not just a question. She's pleading with him, begging, and she needs him to latch onto that – to grasp for some sort of reason, to take hold of what she's offering. He's a reasonable enough bloke, far flung mutterings about the future all thrown to the side. He needs to see what she's offering, and he needs to react.

Not moving forward, grinning as he looks away from her, a certain sharp flash that really has Annie wonder after his sanity: too little of, and now she's watching the very last bits of it slipping away. Reasonable, maybe, but hardly sane. Still, it's like he's to make this make sense, the choice he's going to make, the one he's already made. He can't have already made up his mind.

'It's okay. I know the answer.' He keeps moving – looking out again, and then back at her, eyes a bit wide, a bit wild. 'I'm in a coma. I'm going to take the definite step I need to wake up.' He gestures with his hand – bloody crazy hand motions, whatever he means them to be – and her chest tightens, her throat goes dry.

She keeps leaning towards him. Just wants to grab him, but she can't move that quickly, she can't. Might just startled him. 'Neil's my ex,' she says, wants to shout, keeps her voice steady instead.

Sam looks back at her, looking at her like she's the one who's gone mad, and isn't he fair company to think something like that.

But she goes on. Hooked now, she can't stop. Has to make him listen. Has to make Sam understand. 'He did psychology with me. I told him all about you. He read all those notes you made.'

Not even sinking in, is it? He looks out – and he's listening to her, at least if she's lucky he's listening to her – but then he turns back, once more, and maybe – no. 'There was nothing in those notes about a mobile phone.' One of his arms jerk up, and he points her way.

'What?'

'This is just my mind trying to keep me here.' Taps the side of his head.

'He's just...' (watching him, turning, slowly) ' – playing games with you. Just. Look down – ' oh, and he does, so fast Annie feels dizzy, another twist in her gut. Like she needs to grab him and pull him back, right now, ' – carefully!'

And there's Neil's voice, above the wind, shouting, calling out at Sam. That it was a joke, just a bloody awful joke, the sort that Annie knows he's best at. It doesn't seem to touch Sam – well, he doesn't move forward, but neither does he move back. And Annie just can't...

She makes up her mind – after Sam's put a foot out – dumping her handbag and then ducking down and in between the railing, making her way to the other side. Steps out, as close to the edge as he is. Needing to be closer to him. Mostly, just needing to make him see that this doesn't make _sense_.

It works – in a way. It shocks him, her standing at the edge. 'What are you doing?' So he knows this is dangerous, which means that there's still a chance she can talk him into taking at least one step back. And then another. And then that can be that.

So she edges towards him. 'We all feel like jumping sometimes, Sam.' Slowly, slowly. 'Only we don't, me and you? Because we're not cowards.'

The slip of his voice, like she might lose him and it as well, somewhere in the wind. 'This is just my mind.'

She's closer now, almost close enough. 'Maybe you're here for a reason. To make a difference.'

At least he seems to be considering her words.

Annie reaches out. 'Give me your hand.'

Sam really looks like he's struggling – maybe his mind wasn't as made up as she'd thought, though one moment before it's like he's putting his foot out to just walk into the unknown – but then he's reaching for her, his hand warm against the cold air, warm and solid and real, and something nameless rushes through her, happiness and giddiness and a sick sort of relief. 

All that matters now is that she's got a hold of him, grabbing on with both her own hands, and she's not letting go.

He looks a bit confused – sounds it, too. 'What's that on your hands? Is that grit?'

She looks down, winces against the wind. 'Sand. I was running up here and I fell against a fire bucket.'

More confusion on his face, and Annie can't stop smiling. He turns away – looks off, shaking his head. She's shaking her head as he goes on, as he questions himself, what he thinks he knows, what he thinks is real: 'See, why would I imagine up? Why would I bother to put that kind of detail in it?'

And that's just it – and she shakes her head a bit more firmly, still holding on, clinging. He's not pulling away. She's got him now. She won't lose hold. 'You wouldn't.'

Annie wants to – oh, what does she want? This crazy man who she hardly even knows, furrows his brow at her, looks lost, so very lost, and maybe that's it, that's just it. He's worming his way in through her defences, into her heart, and there's something in that look (that look alone), and she's sure she'll never be able to turn him away.

Some part of her just wants to protect him from himself. Certainly seems like he needs it. It's more than that, though it's still not something that Annie can name.

The wind keeps whipping them, but they're holding onto each other. Sam's not going anywhere, not now, not while Annie has a hold of his hand.

And he still seems so very lost, as he speaks. 'What should I do, Annie?'

Annie knows she shouldn't have said anything to Neil, but it's too late for that and it's nothing she'll ever be able to take back. The way she sees it, there's only one thing she still do right now, one thing she can say and know that she means it.

Because it's something she wants, despite not understanding it completely.

'Stay.'

–

It's a dream, getting Sam down off that rooftop – maybe the worst she's ever had, or the best, though maybe she'll never really get, one way or the other. They're on solid ground now, but she's still shaking. Somehow she's sure it'll never stop.

She needs to keep an eye on him. He asked her to help him – doesn't that mean something? And she asked him to stay, and not just because she didn't want him to die.

Annie tucks a bit of hair back behind her ear. 'You wanna... um. Go to the pub?' She's watching him and she's not even sure he's real, as though his world-view is rubbing off on her own.

He looks back at her, still looks strung-out – she's not too certain he wouldn't immediately go off and do something foolish, so keeping an eye on him is bloody well important. She's taking on a lot but she's sure it's nothing she can't handle.

She's staring at him, and Sam's staring right back.

Then he nods, and he smiles, and Annie lets out the breath she'd been holding. She reaches for his hand once more, as warm as it had been against the edges of that grey-stained roof, beneath the wideness of the open sky.

If any one part of Sam does seem real, it's his smile.

–

He gives her time to change out of her uniform, and she meets him outside. No running – he hasn't spooked and gone off and done something he wouldn't be able to take back, so maybe there's hope for him yet. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't worried.

So she smiles and hangs her handbag off her arm. 'Sorry to keep you waiting.'

Another smile, just as nice – and real – as the last one. 'It's not a problem.'

It's something of a late start, the pub's going to be packed. Not that Annie's worried she's really going to be paying too much attention to anything or anyone else. No, and maybe she's a sap, but just tonight, she's only got eyes for Sam.

–

She's not the only one.

The Guv's sitting in the corner, doing a whole lot of staring, and almost all of it at his new DI. Of course, he does some staring at Annie as well – one of his eyebrows goes up in question, but she shrugs and turns back to Sam.

Sam's drinking his pint, and Annie hasn't even started on her port.

'Are you, um...?'

He shakes his head as he laughs. 'I'm okay.'

She wants to believe that, only Annie doesn't know what to believe. She doesn't even know where to start. There's so much more she wants to say, but none of it seems right. 'The Guv looks like he wants to talk to you.'

Sam doesn't hesitate, turns his head to look back over his shoulder. He's looking straight ahead again, bringing his glass to his lips. 'Yeah, you're right.' He doesn't budge from his spot, drinks his whisky instead.

Maybe she's not the only one who doesn't know what to say.

–

They drink a lot, but don't do a whole lot of talking. Maybe Sam's finally seeing what he'd almost done, a realisation that could only remind him of his own mortality. He packs away a surprising amount, something that seems to shock him as well.

He's more than just a bit tipsy now, but it makes him smile, though it's soft around the edges, sad. 'I don't typically drink like this.'

'Come on, I'll walk you home.'

He nods, lets her take his arm. She gives the Guv one last look as she leads Sam towards the door. He stares right back, but he doesn't stand and follow after them, just keeps to himself. If it leads to something, it will – the Guv's not the sort to just let a thing go. If there's something he wants to say to her, he'll say it.

Same goes for him saying anything to Sam, and hopefully whatever it is he won't say it with his fists.

Still, the attention odd, and that's saying the very least. The Guv doesn't tend to pay much attention to her, though, which honestly... actually, she doesn't know how it makes her feel. She'd like to be taken seriously as a cop, but only Sam sees her as anything other than a plonk in a skirt.

For now, she gets the door and leads Sam out into the street light brightened darkness that awaits them. She'll make sure he gets home safely, not that he thinks much of his 'home'.

Her hand misses his, aches from the loss. Annie reaches out to take hold of it once more, smiles as she does. Just as warm, and like his smile, just as real.

'Hey – it's all going to be alright, you know that, don't you?'

He looks sideways at her, the soft edges of his smile, the lingering sorrow. 'Yeah, I guess you're right.'

'See – being optimistic isn't that hard.'

That earns her a laugh, and her smile brightens all the more.

She knows it hasn't been much, but all great things start small. Annie's given him a hand to hold, but the rest is up to him.


End file.
